


'cause i just (can't) keep coming back

by raewastaken (IWriteLove)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, FakeHaus, M/M, Time Loop, Time Loop Counter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteLove/pseuds/raewastaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam woke up on a Tuesday at 11:59 AM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause i just (can't) keep coming back

**Author's Note:**

> also known as "time loop hell fic"
> 
> s/o to my best pal [EJ](http://ejraptor.tumblr.com/) who hates me now ♥

Adam woke up on a Tuesday. His head was pounding from the night before, one too many drinks out in that shitty bar on the east side of Los Santos that he now regretted. He reached for his phone as it buzzed, turning the screen on and squinting at the brightness. _11:59 AM_. Fuck. He dropped it onto the bed next to him and put his arm over his eyes, groaning quietly and wishing the day would just go away. The sun was bright and headache inducing outside, and he could hear the birds already awake and ready to fucking go, and they should have been good omens, honestly, but Adam was too hungover and tired to really care. He debated just falling back asleep, to let his crew handle the heist without him (because, really, he was just a spotter for Peake today, and Peake did fine without one anyway), when his bedroom door flew open and there was socks against his carpet rug, then a weight on his stomach and hands on his chest. “Gooooood morning, Adam!”

 _Joel_.

He moved his arm, looking up at Joel’s smiling face with narrowed eyes. “Why,” he said quietly.

“Because it’s already after noon,” Joel said, patting Adam’s chest. Adam rolled his eyes, heard Joel scoff. “And we’ve got work to do today, Kovic! So come on, get up and get going!”

“I can’t go anywhere with you sitting on me,” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “It feels like you weigh a fucking ton.”

Joel moved off of him, sitting in an empty spot on the bed as Adam sat up. He huffed, eyes trained on Adam as he ran his hands down his face. “How rude! I do not weigh that much!”

“Yeah, and neither does Spoole, but if he sat on your chest, you'd whine like a child.” Adam ignored the noises Joel made as he pulled himself out of bed, going to the bathroom. “Tell the guys I'll be out in a second,” he said back to Joel, turning on his sink and splashing some water onto his face. The bed creaked, before his bedroom door opened and closed again, and he sighed. The last thing he needed was for Joel to be sitting on him like that, all things considered. Especially with all things, professional and _personal_ things especially, considered. Adam had been able to keep this bullshit in his chest under wraps, as long as Joel kept his fucking hands to _himself._

He got dressed in whatever he could find his closet, trying to shake off the feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach, before he left his room. The living room was a disaster- like it normally was before heists- empty coffee mugs and plates laying all over his coffee table, six men inhabiting the furniture and space in front of him. Bruce and James were sitting on the couch in front of the TV, controllers in their hands as they shouted at each other and Spoole sitting next to them and cheering them on. Peake was sitting in his normal armchair, overlooking the city as he cleaned his rifle (Adam made a mental note to give him a break after this), and Lawrence was at the desk in the corner, typing away at his laptop (scratch that, both of them deserved breaks). Joel was in the kitchen, pouring a fresh cup of coffee into Adam's favorite mug, dancing to a silent song as he did, catching his eyes and smiling wide. “Good morning!” He called out, dropping some sugar into the drink and stirring. He got everyone's attention, and there were six separate greetings from his crew.

Adam crossed to the kitchen, taking the mug from Joel and sipping it, sighing softly. “Morning everyone,” he said quietly. Bruce and James shut off the Xbox, setting the controllers onto the coffee table, as Spoole quickly cleared the dishes. Adam sat onto the couch, sighing and drinking another gulp of his coffee, before setting the cup down. Joel flopped down next to him, mug in his hands as Lawrence set down a stack of papers in front of Adam. “Thanks,” he said softly, flipping through them and humming. “This is all we have on security?”

Lawrence nodded, sitting in the second arm chair. Peake turned to face the rest of them, as Bruce took a seat next to Adam and started looking through the notes. James and Spoole stood over the back of the couch. “That's it. Their network was a bit harder than most banks,” he said.

Adam shook his head. “This is good,” he said, taking another drink of his coffee. “Doesn't look like we need to change the plan much. Spoole, we’ll need stronger explosives, though.”

“Got it.”

“Looks like Matt and I can still sit across the street up on that church roof and cover you guys…” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Bruce, James, Lawrence, you guys still good with going in?” He looked up to a trio of nods. “Awesome. And Joel…”

“I’ll handle the getaway car for the cash, no problem,” Joel said with a toothy grin.

Adam had to tear his gaze away. “Then we're all set. Are you all ready?” The mirth and child like joy that had filled the room earlier faded from the faces of his crew, and was replaced with stony determination. He was met with nods from all six of his crew mates, before he stood. “Then let's get going.”

 

* * *

 

The heist was supposed to be _easy_.

Adam heard the static in his ear over their comms, over the gunfire in the background. He watched through his binoculars as Spoole and Lawrence took cover behind an overturned armored truck, James hastily reloading his guns as Lawrence wiped at the blood on his cheek from the bullet that had grazed him. Spoole had had trouble setting up his explosives, for the first twenty minutes, and he had been watching James and Lawrence take fire from outside the bank, while Bruce chattered away to Spoole over the comm. He hadn’t heard from Joel, but considering how he wasn’t in harm's way _just yet_ , he wasn’t worried. Matt cursed next to him, probably watching along with him, before Spoole’s voice came in.

“Cash is secured with Joel,” he said, out of breath. Peake relaxed next to him. There was a door slam in his ear, then the rumble of that stupid sports car. He felt himself relax, too.

“Get out of there. Front door. There's an overturned truck, we’ll cover you.”

Adam moved to watch the police, gripping the binoculars in tight. “Next to the stop sign. Corner of Elm and Suede.” One shot, the body fell to the ground. He switched to another; they had their pistol aimed at Lawrence. “Squad car closest to the bank.” The pistol shot went off, but it hit the truck. Lawrence didn’t notice.

“Hey, Kovic, where am I going again?” Joel asked.

“Safe house on east side,” Adam said. Peake took a few out on his own in the meantime. Spoole and Bruce appeared from the inside of the bank, taking cover next to Lawrence and James.

“By the water?”

“By the water.”

“No pro-” The comm cut out, and Adam felt his blood run cold. There was an explosion in the distance.

“Joel?” He asked. Peake glanced at him. Spoole looked up at them from the ground. “Rubin!”

“Fall back, around the side!” Lawrence yelled to the ground team, and Peake got back to his rifle.

He let his binoculars fall onto the rooftop, pulling himself away from the edge. “Joel, answer me!” He yelled.

There was a shot, and Peake moved back, rifle falling onto the pavement far below them. His arm was bloody, face scrunched in pain. “Adam we need to _go_.”

“Joel fucking _answer me_!” He yelled into his mouth piece, letting himself be grabbed and pulled down the fire escape by Matt. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran down the shaky metal steps, panting and trying to keep himself level headed. Joel had to be okay, he _had to be._ Matt was in his jeep before Adam’s feet ever hit the ground, starting it as Adam jumped in, holding onto the handle as Peake threw it into drive and sped away. “Joel Rubin, answer me right now!”

Spoole’s voice was the next in his ear. “We're around back in the alley,” he said, panting. “Is Joel-”

“We'll be there in a moment,” Matt answered before he could finish his question.

Adam ripped off his headset, grabbing his phone out of the cup holder and dialing Joel's number. “Answer you fucker,” he muttered. The dial tone sounded like nails on a chalkboard in his ears. Every turn of the car had him swaying, lip worried between his teeth. Answer, Joel, _answer_. He caught sight of Lawrence and Bruce in an alley, and the phone clicked as Peake slowed to a stop and-

“Hello, the number you've reached is currently unavailable, please t-”

Adam threw the door open and jumped out, throwing his phone against the brick wall and watching it shatter. Spoole jumped at the sound. Lawrence set his jaw. “God fucking dammit, _you asshole_!” He yelled. His chest ached. He stormed off, hearing James go to say something, before Bruce shushed him. He didn't know where he was going, but he wanted away, away from his crew, his _friends_ , from everything.

A few blocks away, he let himself break.

 

* * *

 

Adam couldn't begin to count the empty bottles that laid in front of him. They seemed to stretch on for miles, head buzzing and vision blurry through his half open eyes. The bartender kept giving him weird looks as Adam played with the condensation on the side of his beer. Did he know about Joel? Did he know he let him die? Did he know the alcohol fell as bitter on his tongue as Joel’s name did? Everything felt like it was a lifetime ago, Joel jumping on him in bed, making him coffee, sitting next to him and reading over his shoulder. How sure and confident Joel had been waiting against his shiny new sports car with that smug Joel Rubin grin, how he told Adam this would be their best heist yet.

The late night news chattered on the TV, drawing him away from his thoughts, and Adam strained to hear. “-and while they were causing mayhem in downtown, there was a tragic accident right outside of that. A burnt car, with a charred corpse inside.” He glanced up at the TV. He saw a glimmer of gold, the color of Joel’s car. “Police have yet to identify-”

Adam was up and out of the bar before he could hear the rest. He didn't want to hear the rest. Everything swayed and turned as he wobbled his way back to apartment, chest still aching after all he had drank, and he wondered if Lawrence would let him crack open more at home. He deserved it, after today. Maybe the alcohol would just kill him. Did he want that?

Lawrence's voice was the first he heard as he stepped foot in his apartment. “God fucking _dammit_ , Bruce it's three AM!” he yelled. His voice made the world spin. “What if he's dead!”

“We're not going out after that!” Bruce yelled back. Adam stumbled in, knocking over a vase of Joel's favorite flowers as he did. Everyone looked up at him. “Adam? Holy shit-” Joel's mug was still on his coffee table, and Adam felt his stomach lurch. He was here, _he was just here._ “Where the-”

“I'm… I'm gonna be sick,” he managed to say, before he stumbled his way to the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty his stomach into the toilet bowl, chest heaving as he coughed. He felt a hand on his back, rubbing soft, soothing circles, as his choked gags turn to sobs. His head felt light for a moment, before everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Adam woke up and he didn’t know why.

His eyes looked up at the ceiling, his boring, white ceiling, and he blinked slowly. Everything felt numb, his hands and his legs and his head. He didn’t even feel his heart beating, didn’t feel the way his lungs filled with air as he breathed. He didn’t feel a fucking _thing_ . His phone buzzed next to his head, he reached over, picking it up and looking at the time. _11:59 AM_. _Tuesday_. He set it back down on the bed, moving his hands to rub his face, not making a sound. How was he supposed to face everyone after that display from the night before? He stumbled in nearly blackout drunk, and he didn’t want to hear the push pull of questions and answers about Joel. That was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to stay in bed, to sleep off the emptiness he felt, the sadness creeping into his chest. Wanted to sleep away the way he felt cold and _lonely_ at the thought of there being one less person in his crew, there being no Joel to make him coffee in the mornings before heists and bring him donuts when he knew he was on a diet and-

Wait his phone?

_Tuesday?_

Adam scrambled for his phone, grabbing it and unlocking the screen and- 12:02 PM. Tuesday. _Tuesday._ Yesterday was Tuesday _._ How the fuck was it Tuesday again?

His door flew open and before he could look up, there was a weight slamming him back against his mattress and pillows, long arms and curly black hair and then a voice he thought he’d only hear in his dreams singing, “Gooooood morning, Adam!”

_Joel!_

Adam sat up, causing Joel to fall back on his back with a soft _oof_ , staring wide eyed and confused down at him. “What the fuck!” he yelled.

“Whoa,” Joel said, scooting away and sitting up. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Adam are you-”

“How are- You- I saw-” he stuttered, eyes scanning over Joel’s face, his very much alive and breathing and warm face. “ _Joel_ ,” he breathed out.

Joel furrowed his brows and chuckled softly. “Uh… Yeah, that’s me, Kovic,” he said, looking over him. “Are you… okay?”

Okay? Was he fucking okay? Joel was dead, he died last night, but here he was, living and breathing in front of him, blinking and watching him closely with that confused look on his face where his nose scrunched up in that really adorable way. And it was fucking Tuesday, _again_ , and the only reasonable conclusion he could make was that it had been a dream. A scary, realistic dream that went on for too long, but a _dream._ He nodded, wordlessly, before he coughed. “Y-Yeah, I… I’m okay. I’m okay. Just, had a weird dream and… I’m fine.”

Joel didn’t look convinced, but he pulled himself off of Adam’s bed, nodding and humming. “Alright. I’ll go make you some coffee, and you get ready. The guys are waiting for you in the living room.” He left without another word and Adam felt relieved. Joel wasn’t dead, he was _alive_ , very much so, and everything had been a bad dream. Just a dream.

He went through the motions of getting ready, splashing water on his face and getting dressed, looking at himself long and hard in the mirror as he pulled a shirt out of his closet and- _where did that come from_? He turned his upper arm, looking at the number one tattooed in his skin, fresh and dark, and he didn’t remember getting that. Where did that come from? How drunk had he been? Adam ignored it, pulling on his shirt and heading out into the living room, and into the chaos that makes his skin crawl.

Everyone was exactly like they were in his dream; Bruce and James playing video games, Spoole cheering, Peake and Lawrence working, Joel dancing in the kitchen as he made coffee. The mess on the table, the dishes and mugs and noise it was all exactly how he had experienced before, and he felt a chill go down his spine. Joel turned, catching sight of Adam, and smiling wide. “Good morning!” he called, everyone looking up at him and suddenly Adam felt smaller than he ever tried to make himself look.

Bruce was the one who broke the deja vu, giving him a weird look. “Adam, you look sick, are you okay?” James turned off the game and TV from next to him as Spoole cleaned the table. Lawrence looked up from his computer, eyes trained on him from behind his glasses.

“I’m fine,” he croaked. That got Peake’s attention. Joel frowned from the kitchen. “I’m fine, guys, really. Let’s get to work.” He crossed over to Joel, taking the coffee from him, and going to the couch, where Bruce had made room for them, and James had taken the second armchair. He ignored the feeling that crawled up his throat, looking over the papers Lawrence put down on the table. His first sip of coffee was exactly like before. He put the mug on the table, picking up papers to look over. “This everything?”  
  
“That’s it. Their network was a bit harder than most banks.”

His spine crawled. “Uh, no, Lawrence, this is good,” he told him. He didn’t pick up his coffee this time. It left his mouth bitter. “Are you guys still good with going in?” A trio of nods. He felt sick. “And, uh, Joel-”  
  
“I’ll handle the getaway car for the cash, no problem.”

He shook his head. “Uh, no, actually-” he said quickly. “Bruce, uh, could you take the money to Joel?” he asked, looking through his papers. “There should be an armored truck in the back… Joel can be waiting a couple of blocks away, then we can get it to a safe house.”

Bruce shrugged, and he felt himself calm down a bit. “Sure, no problem. I’ll cover Spoole inside, then once we have the cash, I’ll run it to Joel.”

Adam nodded. Something felt like it clicked into place. This wouldn’t be like his dream, he could relax. “Alright, let’s get going then.”

 

* * *

 

Everything was so fucking _fucked._

It had gone so fucking well; Spoole got in, blew the vault door, got the money, met with James and Lawrence outside while Bruce went out the back, high tailing it over to Joel. He had heard high fives and rounds of compliments, and thought that they had did it, that he had overcome whatever irrational fear led him to that dream he had, because Joel was alive, laughing wildly in his ear. He felt relief flood his chest, watching the ground team regroup and climb into the armored truck, saw Peake pull back from the edge and nod with a smile toward Adam, and Adam smiled back, wide and happy. It was all fine.

Then there was a gunshot over the comm. Adam’s blood ran icy cold, colder than before, and he sucked in a breath. “Report,” he said quickly. Peake gave him a look. There’s a round of “ _active_ ”s from five voices, including the one next to him. Bruce, James, Lawrence, Spoole, Peake… “Joel? Report.”

 _Silence._ His throat closed up.

“Adam, we need to go,” Peake told him, and he nodded, robotically, following him down the steps of the fire escape, listening to the creak and the groan of the old metal. He got into his jeep, hands shaking as he pulled out his phone, dialing Joel’s number. Peake got in and turned the key, throwing it into drive and speeding away. He pressed call, holding the phone against his ear, listening, hoping, _praying_ he was okay, that he was _okay_.

“Hello, the number you've reached is currently unavailable, please t-”

He hung up, dropping his phone onto the floor board and sitting forward with his face in his hands. Peake didn’t comment.

They get back to his apartment just after sunset. Lawrence was pacing when they walked in, arms crossed over his chest, the air around him tense. Spoole stood the moment he saw them, rushing over to Peake and wrapping his arms around him, and Adam could hear the murmured reassurances and words of comfort. Bruce and James held hands on the couch, watching Adam with worried, sad eyes. Adam felt the world close in around him. He didn’t know what to say. “Adam?” Bruce’s voice was gentle. It didn’t help the storm in his head.

“I’m…” he spoke slowly. Lawrence stopped pacing, Spoole and Peake parted, everyone’s eyes on him. “I’m going to bed…”

As he walked back to his bedroom, he heard the sound of the vase in the entryway breaking.

 

* * *

 

11:59 AM. _Tuesday_.

Adam didn’t understand.

The number on his arm was a two now, dark and fresh as it was before, and he stared at it, eyes unfocused and unseeing, before he looked up at the ceiling, staring blankly. The numbness he felt over Joel’s death was gone, replaced with a daze of emotions, mostly confusion. What was going on? This was the second time he had woken up on a Tuesday, the second time he had woken up after the heist went wrong and he went to bed defeated and filled with regret, but now it didn’t feel like his failure mattered. There was no way this was a dream, this wasn’t that stupid fucking movie about dreams within dreams that Spoole adored but Adam couldn’t follow, no matter how hard he tried. It felt too real to be a dream, he couldn’t rationalize that.

It was Tuesday, for the second day in a row, and it _wasn’t_ a fucking _dream_.

His door swung open and a weight settled on his stomach, hands on his chest, and a toothy smile above him. “Gooooood morning, Adam!” He didn’t react, still staring up at the ceiling. Joel’s smile fell, and he frowned. “Adam?”

 _A joke_ , he realized _._ What if it was just a joke? Joel’s death, his phone, everything. They were all trying to get him back for something, something that warranted him being put through hell for two days straight, and a stupid tattoo on the inside of his arm. “Are you guys fucking with me?” he asked, looking at Joel. “Is this a joke?”

Joel frowned. “Uh, what are you talking about?” he asked.

Adam didn’t even know. Joel couldn’t lie without that shine in his eyes that always gave him away during poker. He sighed, shaking his head. “Nevermind. I’m just tired. I’ll be out there in a minute,” he told him. Joel moved up off of Adam and headed out of his bedroom, casting looks back at him. Adam got out of bed and went through the motions of getting ready, again, before going out into the living room where the same mess was happening. He glanced at the entryway table; the vase wasn’t broken, flowers still arranged inside. He let the day play out the way it had the first time, didn’t bother changing anything and ignored the way Bruce gave him concerned looks, and the way Joel leaned into him a little. He didn’t bother drinking his coffee.

Adam still couldn’t keep the flood of emotions from rising up in his chest as Joel’s comm goes silent, couldn’t keep himself from running off, again, to a shitty bar a block from his apartment, couldn’t keep from getting so drunk he barely got home, throwing up into the toilet and passing out on the tile.

He woke up with a neat little three on his arm, on a Tuesday, at 11:59 AM.

 

* * *

 

Adam discovered it wasn’t just Joel he had to watch for during loop six.

He felt like he _finally_ had it figured out. The clock read 11:59 AM on Tuesday for the sixth time, the number on his arm a six now, and he toyed with the order of things this time, retried his plan from loop two. He kept Joel from his shiny sports car, got Bruce to the armored truck unharmed and unfollowed after escorting Spoole inside to blow the vault. James and Lawrence hadn’t taken any injuries, and Spoole was joining them outside with a wide smile on his face. He felt like he had _finally_ broken it, after a whole _week_ spent on this one Tuesday, that he had finally figured out how to best it, and it felt good. He had gotten reckless, not watching the police still swarming the bank, too busy listening to Joel’s laughter in his ear over the revving of his car. It felt fixed, it felt right, it felt like he had finally done it.

Then, all at once, there was screaming, gunshots, and Matt’s voice was loud next to him. “Spoole!”

Adam looked down, seeing Spoole fall to the ground. Lawrence and James grabbed him, pulling him out of the fire, a bullet grazing Lawrence’s cheek in the process. His voice barely rose over the chaos. “Is he okay?” he asked.

“H-He took a shot in stomach,” James told him, hearing the shake in his voice, the fear evident. He felt cold all over. “He’s not responding.”

“Pull him back around back, Lawrence, cover him,” he told him, grabbing Peake to pull him down the fire escape. He wasn’t all there, stumbling steps and hands shaking on his rifle. He looked pale. “Peake, passenger’s side,” he told him, and this was new, him driving the jeep, and not Matt. He got in and started the car, putting it into drive and driving off toward the back of the bank.

“G-Guys what’s going on?” Joel asked. Adam could hear sirens in the background. He had to be close to the apartment. Bruce followed it up with a repeat. Matt sat next to him, hands shaking as he clutched his rifle.

“Spoole’s been shot. Bruce, Joel, head back home and we’ll meet you there. Call Ramsey’s kid, Caleb.”

There wasn’t a sound of debate from Joel or Bruce. His comm went quiet, and Adam parked in the back, looking over as James drug Spoole’s body into the back of the jeep. Matt was staring blankly at the floorboards, unmoving and unresponsive as Lawrence helped James. “W-Where are we-”

“My apartment,” Adam said quickly, hands tight on the steering wheel and all he could think of was how he failed, failed so fucking bad because he saved Joel. _Joel_ was alive and well and talking over the comm, but _Spoole_ was bleeding out in the backseat of Matt’s jeep. “Come on.”

The other three climbed in. Adam wasn’t sure where they sat, but they’re all in when he goes tearing out of the alley and a few blocks over to his apartment. The telltale sign that Caleb arrived before them was the black Hummer sitting in front with the bright green Fake AH logo on the side. Adam pulled into his garage, parking between his yellow sports car and Joel’s flashy gold one, and getting out. Caleb was standing with Joel next to the elevator, rushing over. “Help Lawrence get him out,” Adam told Caleb, and the kid followed his directions. Joel moved to him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. Adam rested a hand on his lower back. “I’m alright.”

Lawrence and Caleb passed them with Spoole, who looked sickly pale and cold, hand clutching where he had been shot. Blood stained his shirt. Bruce and James followed them into the elevator. Matt didn’t move from his spot in the jeep. “Matt?” Joel asked quietly. He reacted robotically, climbing out and leaving his rifle in the front seat. There was blood all over the light grey back seats, but he didn’t bother looking. He walked, stiffly and slowly to the elevator that’s come back to the bottom floor, holding the door for the two of them. Joel glanced at Adam. Adam didn’t know what to say. They got in with him.

They’re not even to the top floor when Matt’s phone rang. He pulled it out, handing it to Adam, face ashen and unmoving. He didn’t want to answer. Adam answered for him. “Hello?”  
  
“I…” came Caleb’s voice. He heard Bruce let out a loud sob in the background. “I’m… Sorry.” Matt crumbled to the floor, holding his legs to his chest and hiding his face in his knees. Joel kneeled next to him. “He…”

“Thank you,” Adam said quietly, not sure what else _to say_. Caleb hummed on the other side as the elevator dinged. Adam hung up the phone. Bruce and James’ faces were stained with tears, Lawrence was clutching Spoole’s hat in bloodied hands. Matt sobbed behind him.

He went to bed that night feeling cold and empty, again, and was relieved to wake up the next morning with a seven on his arm and Spoole’s voice coming in from the living room.

 

* * *

 

Loop eighteen almost killed Adam.

He’d been at this for over two weeks. He had gotten Joel killed nearly every time, except for loop six, which he hardly counted as a success, and he was getting desperate. Nothing he seemed to do helped, not moving Joel, or moving everyone else, and every time he thought he got close, he had gotten reckless and it ended in failure. He needed a solution, at this point. He wanted there to be a solution, somewhere, _somehow_ , that would break this crazy loop of death and regret. He knew there had to be.

Peake was moved to transport duty. He was the safest driver of them all, and he knew he’d be able to do to better than Bruce and Joel combined ever could. Spoole still blew out the vault door, with Bruce covering him inside while James and Lawrence did the same from the outside. Joel played spotter, this time, because Adam was starting to become numb to the silence that came over his comm, and he thought it would work if he was there, up with him, rather than down there with all the various variables of things that could go wrong. Adam’s space was _controlled_. He could control it if something started going wrong.

Joel had his binoculars in his hand, watching the street below them. Peake had the money, was dropping it off at the apartment, before he could come back to get the ground team. They were almost done, and Adam was almost done with this. He gripped the sniper rifle tight, watching below and picking off the men Joel called. “Alley,” he heard Peake in his ear. James threw a grenade over their cover, and Adam took out the law enforcement close enough to them to hinder their getaway. They were almost there.

“Secure,” Lawrence came over the comm.

“I just need to- Okay, secure,” Spoole said, before two more chimes of secure came through his earpiece.

Adam tried not to show his excitement. Finally, _finally_ , it felt like he had done it right. Everyone was alive, no injuries, they did the heist and they were all okay, they were all going to be _okay_. His excitement eventually showed in a smile that he flashed Joel. “We’ll be down in a moment,” Adam said, Joel moved back from the edge of the roof, flashing and toothy smile at Adam. They moved from the edge and started heading toward the fire escape, Joel brushing up against Adam with laughs. “Get back to the apartment and we’ll see you soon,” he told them.

“We did it,” Joel cheered, throwing his arms up with a wide smile. “W-”

A shot rang out. Blood covered him and the roof, and Joel stumbled, falling forward, unmoving, a gunshot in his head. Adam’s hands shook, dropping his rifle and moving his hands up to his mouth. _Sick_. He was going to be sick. One foot was resting on the fire escape. “J-Joel?” he choked. The comm went silent, before everything went black and Adam felt the rush of the ground meet him.

He woke up crying and shaking.

 

* * *

 

There _had_ to be a way to outsmart it.

The number was a forty-nine now, and Adam didn’t feel much at all about his current predicament. He had been at it for over a month now, and nothing got as bad as loop eighteen again. He saw Lawrence get blown up, saw Bruce get shot, James cut it too close on a grenade, Peake take a bullet that always made him remember Joel. He didn’t feel much over the deaths anymore, because he knew he’d wake up and they’d all be back again, cleaning their guns and playing video games in his living room. Numb was not something he should have been over this situation.

Adam didn’t know what to do anymore. The obvious thing, _the smart thing_ , would be to just call off the heist, prevent any of them from heading out that day, but that would be the easiest way, and Adam _wasn’t_ going to take an easy way out. Somewhere there had to be a combination of set ups for that heist that let them all get out of it without getting killed. He was stubborn, and he was going to find that combination.

Loop forty nine was the first loop he considered his _own_ mortality.

Loop forty nine was the _only_ loop he let things get as bad as they did.

He completely rewrote their plans, from the ground up, over the course of days which felt like hours to them. No one was where they were before; Joel didn’t have his fancy car, Peake didn’t have his rifle, Spoole didn’t have his explosives. Everyone, except for him, were on the ground, Peake in a jeep around the side, with the others covering Bruce and Spoole out front of the bank. Adam watched through the scope on his rifle, picking off law enforcement as they arrived, but couldn’t keep Lawrence from taking one too many gunshots, couldn’t stop when Matt’s jeep exploded in fiery destruction, couldn’t do a _damn fucking thing_ when Bruce and James and Spoole and Joel all succumbed to grenades and bullets and injuries. Adam couldn’t do a thing. He _didn’t_ do a thing.

Loop forty nine was the only loop he let them _all_ die.

Adam took a long, hard drink of Lawrence’s favorite alcohol back at his apartment, feet propped up on the table like James always did before he got yelled at by Bruce, the controllers from this morning still sitting on the couch. He had Spoole’s hat in his hand and Matt’s rifle next to him, running this thumb over the brim as his hands shook. He took another drink, ignoring the burn of his throat and the sting of his eyes, and looked at the pistol shining on the table. Joel’s favorite pistol.

Would it end with his death? Would the day reset so they were all alive, but he was dead? Adam would prefer that, him dead over his friends, because he had been putting them through hell with this, whether they knew it or not. He had seen Spoole curl up on the couch and cry for hours over Peake, seen James throw a controller through the window because of Bruce, saw Joel mourn Lawrence silently with an extra pair of his glasses in his hands. He hesitated, before grabbing the pistol, turning it over in his hands. Or, if God fucking forbid him from trying to opt out of this rollercoaster of bullshit, would him dying, him _killing himself,_ reset the day like it did anyone else’s deaths? Would not even a bullet stop this time loop of hell and misery that Adam had been living in for over a month now, where he had to witness his friends die over and over again, for what? The world’s satisfaction in knowing that Adam was broken now?

He wasn’t going to cave and kill himself.

He set down the gun, and cried for the first time in forty six loops, let tears soak the knees on his jeans the sleeves on his jacket, let his throat go hoarse and cracked from screaming and sobbing, head pounding by the end.

Adam was done playing around on loop fifty.

 

* * *

 

Loop ninety three.

Adam watched James die.

Adam watched Bruce take his own life.

He held them for a long time on loop ninety four.

 

* * *

 

Loop one hundred and sixty five.

Adam didn’t want to think about loop one hundred and sixty five

 

* * *

 

Two hundred and thirteen.

Two hundred and thirteen days, spent living this same day over and over again, watching plan after plan fall apart. Two hundred and thirteen days worth of blood on his hands, from letting his friends die in front of him again and again. Two hundred and thirteen days of trying and trying and _trying,_  but always failing, _always failing_ to keep one or two or all of them safe. Two hundred and thirteen days filled with grief and agony and misery, before numbness and apathy set in.

Adam was on loop _two hundred and thirteen_ , and he was tired of this.

His entire body ached now, from invisible bruises and bullets and injuries that were washed away every night as the clock reset to Tuesday. His eyes felt heavy, despite the sleep he had been getting, if he was even getting sleep. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. It was loop two hundred and thirteen, and he didn’t even want to bother getting out of bed. There wasn’t a solution to this. He couldn’t outsmart this. Trying was just going to keep him here until he died, and now he wasn’t even certain it’d end with his death. He wanted out of this, he wanted it to be fucking Wednesday, but he didn’t want to try anymore. He had finally given up.

The door swung open for the two hundred and thirteenth time, and Joel jumped onto his stomach, hands on his chest, a smile wide on his face, and this time, he didn’t even get out his good morning, before his smile was gone. “Adam?”

The world won. He _broke._

Tears rolled down his face, and Adam moved his hands, pulling Joel down into a hug, holding him tight and shaking as he held back his sobs. “I-I can’t do it anymore, Joel…” he whispered. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“D-Do what, Adam? What’s wrong?” he asked. He didn’t try to pull away. “Is your hangover that bad? I can get you some aspirin.”

Adam had forgotten about that, that technically, for them, last night was a heavy night of drinking. The Monday night seven months ago. He shook his head, hands tightening in his shirt. “I-I’ve had to see you die so many fucking times, see you all die, and I-I just keep coming back here. Tuesday fucking morning again and again and _fucking again_.”

“Die?” Joel pulled away at this, looking down at Adam. “See us die? Coming back here, Adam wha-”

He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, showing Joel the neat two hundred and thirteen on his upper arm. Joel frowned. “I’ve been reliving this day for seven months, and I can’t do it anymore, Joel,” he choked, tears still in his eyes. “I can’t.”

“Adam this sounds…” he trailed off, eyes catching with Adam’s. “Adam, it sounds crazy, but…”

“I don’t want to do the heist today,” he said, finally breaking. He didn’t care about what solution, what combination, what order of plans would fix this. He didn’t want to leave his bed, didn’t want to see Joel walk out that front door and never come back, didn’t want to see _any of them_ walk out and never come back. “I don’t want to leave this apartment, I don’t want any of you to.”

Joel didn’t look like he understood; he had his nose crinkled in confusion and his brows were pressed together. But he nodded, and Adam felt relief wash over him like rain, and something clicked better than it ever had during loop two when he naively thought he had it figured out. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re not feeling well. And I’ll get you some coffee, the bags under your eyes look terrible,” he told him softly. He got up from bed, leaving his room silently. He heard Bruce and James’ yelling over the game, coupled with Spoole’s cheering on, before it went silent, Lawrence’s voice floating in asking about him. A clanking of a mug against marble countertops, Spoole’s questions and Peake’s gentle reassurances. He didn’t hear a door open, never heard one shut, before Joel was back in his bedroom with his favorite mug filled with coffee, a smile on his face.

Adam didn’t stay long enough awake to drink it.

 

* * *

 

Adam woke up and _panicked._

It was daylight again outside, birds chirping and the sunlight bright on his eyes, head pounding away like it did all those loops ago. He could hear yelling of his crew mates in the living room, and it all felt how it did for the past seven fucking months. His body still ached and he still felt tired and sore, and for a moment, he thought it didn’t work. _Whatever he did didn’t work_ , that the world had to be punishing him for something, because nothing he tried broke the loop, and even _giving up_ all together didn’t break it either. He can feel his eyes burn at the thought of this being loop two hundred and fourteen, and he lifted his arm to put it over his eyes, before he froze.

His skin was _empty_.

Adam sat up quickly, pulling his shirt sleeve up. _Blank._ No number. No counter for his fuck ups and mistakes. No tally telling him how many times he had failed. He reached for his phone, unlocking it and staring at the date.

12:36 PM. Wednesday.

 _Wednesday_.

The bathroom door opened and Joel stepped out, drying his damp curls with a towel and staring at Adam. “Hey, you’re awake,” he said, smiling and Adam’s chest fucking ached. It _ached_. “You slept for like twelve hours are-”

He didn’t have a chance to finish the statement. Adam was out of bed and in his space before he could, grabbing him by the front of his stupid button up shirt and pulling him in for a kiss, hands shaking on the fabric, before he pulled back. “Joel, I fucking love you,” he said quickly, relishing in the way Joel’s face shifted in shock, cheeks pink. He had never bothered telling him during the loops. His chest felt so light now. “Oh my god, I fucking _love_ you.”

“Well, uh,” Joel stuttered. “ _Wow_. Good morning to you, too, Adam,” he said with a laugh, before pressing a kiss to his lips in return. Adam felt like jelly. “I’ll go get you some coffee, alright?”

Adam nodded silently as Joel left, hearing him yell at the guys to quiet down, and he couldn’t believe it. He broke it. The loop was _broken_. He dressed quickly, tripping over his jeans and barely managing to pull on a shirt, heading out into the living room. Peake was reading in his chair, Lawrence scrolling on his phone, Bruce and James looking up something on a laptop, while Spoole played on his DS. It was all _different, finally_ , after months of hell. They all looked up as he walked in, giving quick good mornings and greetings, and Adam crossed to the kitchen, taking his coffee from Joel and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

And at the end of the day, after a _successful_ heist, while Lawrence and Bruce were counting money, when Joel leaned over to him on the couch and whispered back “I love you, too”, Adam felt everything _finally_ fit into place.

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr!](http://seanspooles.co.vu/)


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